6

6

Konrad was surprised to find the bridal party already assembled at the porch on the south side of the chapel. He almost took a step back when he observed the number of people loitering there. Clearly, he and Ankatel had vastly differing ideas of what ‘a small gathering’ meant.

“There you are, milord!” the merchant cried heartily, coming forward to clasp his hand.

Konrad returned his welcome and turned to his sister who stood a tall imposing figure in her burgundy velvet gown. He wondered if she might not be too hot in her formal garb before long, for Caer Lyoness grew very warm in July. “This is my sister,” he said, introducing her. “Magnatrude, this is Gerold Ankatel whose daughter will be joining our family this morn.”

As his sister condescended to shake the amiable merchant’s hand, Konrad noticed the watery blue eyes of her attendant turned on him in reproach. “And our cousin Freda who acts as her chaperone,” he added belatedly.

Freda fluttered forward in a robe of faded green satin which had plainly seen better days. She was far from an impressive figure, tall like all Bartrees but with a wiry, awkward frame and a good quantity of frizzy light brown hair. She simpered girlishly as Ankatel bowed over her hand instead of shaking it, and Konrad tried to reckon how old Freda must be by now. She must be forty-five if she was a day! She and his older sister were much the same age, and Trude had fifteen years on him at least.

Both women wore their braided hair coiled about their ears and bundled into hairnets on either side of their heads. It was not a style you saw much in the south these days, but his kinswomen had worn their hair this way since they had achieved womanhood.

“Charmed!” Ankatel murmured as he straightened up. To Konrad’s surprise, he noticed his cousin blush. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister’s features sharpen and guessed she would be giving Freda a stern talking to later.

“So very kind,” Freda twittered and retreated to his sister’s side.

“Your bride awaits,” Ankatel said turning to him and gesturing toward the crowd gathered around the studded door of the porch.

“I do not see the priest,” Konrad commented. He was in no great hurry to move up to the front where all eyes would be trained on him.

“The hour approaches, and he must surely be due any moment now,” Ankatel responded, and without waiting for Konrad’s response, he headed determinedly for the crowd. “Make way!” he cried. “The groom’s party must come through.” The crowd hurriedly made way for them, and Konrad cleared his throat and plunged into the heart of them, his sister and cousin on his heels.

So distracted was he by the unexpected hubbub that he scarcely gave more than a passing glance to his heavily veiled bride. When the priest appeared in the doorway, he felt her pluck at his sleeve and realized she wanted his hand. With some surprise, he extended it and found it grasped at once. For some reason, he had imagined her fingers would be cold and would shrink from his touch, but her hand was warm and her grip firm.

That was not to be his greatest shock either, for with her other hand she drew back her veil and revealed not the pale visage he had been expecting but the radiant face of Ankatel’s youngest daughter. He would have dropped her hand if she had not hold of his so tightly. Turning toward him, she beamed at him, and Konrad just about managed to stop his jaw from dropping.

Why was she here? What had happened to the other? He turned his head to look at Ankatel, and the older man nodded and smiled as though for all the world this was in fact his intended. So distracted was he that for a moment he did not realize the priest had started to speak.

“I am willing,” he heard his bride return heartily, and he turned his head to find the priest regarding him expectantly.

“I – er – am also willing,” he responded awkwardly after a moment. After all, what else could he do? The priest trotted out a few more phrases, and once more his bride tugged on his hand until he extended it, still clasped in hers. The priest held up a green ribbon, and then after speaking a few words over it, he deftly wound it about their two wrists and bound them together.

“Your lives are now entwined together, and henceforth from this point you will be as one,” the priest intoned gravely.

“Thank you so much, Father Amos,” his bride said earnestly and then turned to Konrad, lowering her voice. “We shall have to turn about so that we can head back up the other way,” she advised, and Konrad dumbly allowed her to shepherd him about until they were facing in the opposite direction.

He felt wrong-footed by the scattered applause. Did people usually clap at weddings? Then there was a surge of people toward them, and Konrad found his shoulder clasped and his back patted. Gerold Ankatel embraced him, and he had little choice about the matter as he could hardly sidestep him without trampling his bride.

He noticed his sister standing aloof from the milling crowd, though his cousin was chattering excitedly to a matronly looking woman who was carrying a small infant. Before he could gather his wits, his bride was tugging resolutely on his hand once again and standing on her tiptoes to address him. “We need to move around to the west porch now,” she explained loudly so that he could hear her above the tumult.

“The west porch?” he repeated blankly.

“For Ursula’s ceremony to Sir Renlow,” she explained cheerfully.

Following her promptings, he made his way like a sleepwalker and found himself in the midst of the crowd this time as Sir Renlow was bound in turn to the whey-faced sister. Konrad half-expected Renlow to object to the bridal exchange, but the young knight showed no sign of surprise or discomfiture when the veil was drawn back to show the older sister stood at his side.

Knowing the strict code of chivalry Renlow adhered to, Konrad told himself he should not have been surprised by this, even though he was. He found himself glancing distractedly down at the woman he was bound to. What the fuck was her name? He had not troubled about their names, he acknowledged belatedly, and felt an uncomfortable prickling of something he had thought long gone.

As if aware of his regard, his bride’s face lifted, and she flashed her dimples at him. He was still recovering from this when a cheer went up, and he turned to find Renlow and his new wife were now making their way back through the crowd and holding their bound wrists aloft. Even the older sister was smiling for once. Doubtless she was relieved at her last-minute reprieve, he thought grimly. Had she balked at the eleventh hour and her sister agreed to trade places with her?

He glanced down uneasily again and found his wife cheering and waving like the rest. She squeezed his hand. “Where is your party?” she asked him, gazing about. He stared back at her blankly. “Your kinswomen,” she prompted. Konrad glanced around and saw Magnatrude still lurking on the edges, wearing her frozen look as Freda conversed freely with a minstrel carrying a lute.

“Over there,” he nodded in their direction.

“I would love an introduction,” she told him hopefully, and Konrad realized his manners were sadly lacking. He waved and caught Freda’s attention. Magnatrude appeared to be staring in horror at some capering jesters. He beckoned and Freda caught hold of his sister’s sleeve. Immediately, Magnatrude shrugged her off, clearly in a disagreeable and prickly mood.

He watched Freda go through the pantomime of pointing and yelling in Magnatrude’s ear. His sister still looked frosty, but they started to move toward them. When they had maneuvered their way through the milling crowd, Freda sank into an obliging curtsey, but Magnatrude remained standing tall and proud.

“Allow me to introduce my wife, Baroness Kentigern,” he said pointedly. “My sister, the honorable Magnatrude Bartree, and my cousin, Mistress Fredagunde Bartree.” The significance of his words was not lost on Magnatrude who flushed and dropped into a stiff curtsey.

His wife curtseyed also, and he was pleased to see it was not obsequiously low but merely a good, plain curtsey. “I am very happy to meet you both,” she said warmly. “I cannot tell you how pleased I was when I heard that my husband had sent for you to attend our wedding.” Her bright eyes sent him a quick, brimming look when she said the words ‘my husband’ which gave him pause. If he didn’t know any better, he would almost think she took pleasure in them! “We go now to my father’s house for the wedding feast,” she explained. “Where you will be made very welcome.”

“How very kind,” Freda murmured. Magnatrude inclined her head, then jumped almost out of her skin when someone close by threw back his head and started gustily singing a ballad.

“I think that is our signal to start making our way toward my father’s,” the bride said excitedly. “We must follow that man in the red and yellow costume who is carrying the decorated pole.” She pointed at an extraordinary figure in long scalloped sleeves who was carrying a beribboned staff decorated with bells, who had started marching forward in a high-stepped manner.

Konrad shrugged and they started forward, and Magnatrude and Freda fell in behind them. A good deal of the assembled company was now singing and strumming or plucking away on some instrument or other.

“It feels like quite a procession, does it not?” his new wife chirruped away beside him. “What a merry company we shall be!” The bustling townsfolk stopped whatever they were doing that morn and stared as they passed them. A rag-taggle crowd of children and beggars started to follow along behind.

People crowded into the windows and balconies above to watch as they walked by, and Konrad realized a good number he had taken for Ankatel’s guests must have been hired entertainers. Some were even walking on their hands and turning somersaults alongside them. His wife waved and smiled and showed every enjoyment of being part of the spectacle.

It took a good quarter of an hour to reach the street where the Ankatel’s large black and white timbered townhouse resided. Though his bride still stepped lightly and quickly beside him, Konrad noticed that Magnatrude and Freda were looking rather harried by this point, more from the bustle and hubbub than the exercise.

“This is the house,” he threw over his shoulder at them. To his surprise, two attendants stood at the door to pipe them across the threshold. “Welcome!” they cried. “All hail the bride and groom!”

Konrad ducked his head and walked inside. His bride, given little opportunity to tarry, accompanied him up the stairs to the main chamber where the benches and tables had been laid out for banqueting.

“We’re to sit at this table on my father’s right,” she said in a hurried undertone, gesturing toward the head of the table where her father was already engaged in conversation. “Ursula and Sir Renlow will sit to his left, and your sister and cousin can sit on the other side of us.”

Konrad gave a brisk nod and beckoned to Freda who was still stood flustered and uncertain in the doorway. “What a fine, large room!” he heard her exclaim nervously as she hurried forward. “And so prettily decorated!” His sister made no response, though she looked glad to be directed to a seat.

It was only once he had sat down that Konrad had the chance to take in his surroundings. He found he scarcely recognized the room from the previous occasion, so heavily was it swathed in festoons and hung about with garlands and wreathes. There were even flowers underfoot, he noticed.

A flood of people clattered up the stairs and spilled through the doorway, though it seemed to Konrad that only a small number of them would fit onto the two long tables that had been set out for the guests. As if deducing his thoughts, his bride leaned forward. “Father hired a lot of entertainers for our meal,” she explained with a smile.

He nodded as the attendants started to line up around the four walls of the chamber, and it seemed to Konrad that they would need to stand two-deep to fit them all in. Houses like this one did not include a gallery for the minstrels to set up in.

Seeing a tall figure amidst the rabble, Konrad was glad to recognize his fellow bridegroom, Renlow, who drifted in with an amiable smile. His bride’s smile looked rather strained as they joined them at the table.

“Father,” she said, as Gerold Ankatel greeted the newcomers with a kiss to their cheeks.

Konrad braced himself as the older man repeated the gesture to his own bride and then, perhaps seeing him tense, chose to clasp his shoulder instead. “Welcome, welcome!” their host enthused before raising his voice to encompass everyone else. “You are heartily welcome, all!” he assured the revelers. “If I might propose a toast to the married couples for their happy futures. Baron Kentigern and my Aimee,” he said looking first toward them. “Sir Renlow and my Ursula,” he continued, turning to the other couple. “I wish you all that is bright and happy.”

Aimee, thought Konrad. So that was her name. Only half of the table had been served with drinks, but Konrad reached for his goblet with his free hand, and his bride did likewise. They raised their cups aloft and echoed the toast. “Bright and happy!” A confused cheer went up from the half of the guests who had heard the toast. Ankatel clearly considered himself absolved of all hosting duties by this point, for he dropped back into his seat and gulped his drink as the room about them descended into chaos.

It was not so much the wedding guests that were causing the clamor as the musicians and players who capered around the table, getting in the way of the servers who were bringing out platters of breads and wine. Konrad heard a servant curse as something fell with a clatter behind them, though he did not look to see what it was. An acrobat overbalanced and went crashing down into the fragranced rushes.

Aimee cleared her throat. “It is very lively, is it not?” she commented to the table at large.

“Very,” Konrad heard himself concur heavily when no one else replied.

She flashed him a grateful smile, and mercifully at that moment, a trencher of roast meats was placed on the table so he could tear his gaze away. Platters of wild boar and venison were followed by dishes of salmon and pike and a huge golden pie the size of which made even him blink. Seeing the direction of his stare, his bride leaned toward him.

“It is filled with twelve chickens, twenty-four hard boiled eggs, and flavored with saffron and cloves,” she said not without pride and surveyed him expectantly for his reaction.

“That’s a lot of poultry,” he managed after a pause.

This seemingly pleased her, for she beamed at him again. “You must try some of everything here, for my father has hired the best cooks to be found in all of Caer Lyoness.”

He nodded and was pleased to see his new wife had a good appetite, for she partook freely of all the dishes, making noises of appreciation when she sampled something she found particularly good.

“These gilded sugar plums are truly delicious,” she confided in him. “You must try some.”

He shook his head. “I dislike sweet things.”

“Oh, but you enjoyed those cherry tarts so much at that supper last month!” she exclaimed. “I saw you eat several with my own eyes!” So surprised was he that she had been watching him that night that he could not think of any answer to make. “Why not try just one?” she coaxed and had already spooned it onto his plate before he could refuse outright. When he glared at it balefully, she looked crestfallen. “I had them made just for you, as I thought sweetened fruits must be your favorite.”

A cough to the left of him had him turning his head, for that was his blind side. He found his cousin regarding him with interest, though his sister still looked like a carved edifice.

“When you were a boy, you always liked candied fruits,” Freda observed, cocking her head to one side rather like a bird.

“I have been a man for many years now,” he pointed out.

“’Tis of no matter,” his bride hastened to assure him, and when she would have removed the plum from his plate, he stayed her hand.

“I’ll eat it, now you’ve put it there,” he said gruffly and proceeded to do so.

“How does it taste?” she asked anxiously.

“Sweet,” he winced.

Her face fell. “Oh. Well – er – mayhap this fish cooked in parsley and vinegar with powdered ginger will be more to your taste?” she suggested, gesturing to a dish that had just been placed down.

He had no sooner nodded his willingness to partake of it, then she was ladling it onto his plate. She was a little clumsy about it, spilling a few drops onto the fine linen cloth that covered the table. Seeing her frown of concentration, he guessed she did not customarily use her left hand.

“Should we cut the binding?” he asked, glancing down at their still bound wrists.

Instead of looking pleased, she looked dismayed at the prospect. “Oh, but – that would be far too soon, surely?”

Konrad glanced across at Renlow and Ursula and saw they had already removed their ribbon. Instead of pointing this out, he merely shrugged.

“Perhaps we could remove it at the end of the feast?” she suggested.

He gave a brief nod of acquiescence and, again, was the recipient of her smile. She seemed easily pleased in any event.

“There are certainly plenty of spices in this beef stew,” Gerold Ankatel observed, removing his velvet cap. He wiped his brow and gestured for a servant. “Throw open these casement windows,” he requested. “’Tis growing damnably warm in here, now the noonday sun shines down upon us.”

There was some bustle before the musicians and players could be ushered aside to make way for the servants to open the windows, and then the musicians could plainly be heard in the street below. Unfortunately, instead of taking a coordinated approach to the tunes they played, they seemed instead to be trying to drown each other out.

For the first time, he felt some sympathy for Ursula Ankatel, who raised a hand to her brow with a pained expression. “It’s very noisy in here,” he heard her falter.

Her father leaned across toward her. “What’s that you say, daughter?” he boomed.

“The musicians, they are so loud, Father.”

“Nonsense!” he replied sounding aggrieved. “What you need to do is eat more. Why, you’ve scarcely touched a thing!”

Glancing across, Konrad could see her plate contained not even a smear of gravy and the merest token presence of a pile of herbs and greens. His own father had recommended that wives should be selected with much the same criteria as horseflesh. A lustrous mane, good sized chest, well-turned limbs, and a fine pair of buttocks.

The third baron would not have approved of Ursula Ankatel for a wife. Konrad spared a moment’s pity for Renlow to be saddled with so unpromising a mare before reflecting on his own unexpected good fortune.

“Perhaps a plain chicken broth could be sent up from the kitchen, Father,” he heard Aimee suggest urgently. “This food is very rich and likely disagrees with my sister.”

“Pshaw!” their father returned in irritation. “A daughter of mine who does not like good, flavorful fare!”

“It is not that,” Aimee started to argue, but at that moment, Ursula staggered to her feet and stood swaying a moment, her upper lip and forehead beaded with sweat. “Ursa!” Aimee cried.

Renlow sprang to his feet and caught Ursula just as she fainted clean away. Mercifully, the music in the room abruptly stopped, save for one harp plucker who was speedily elbowed by a passing servant. Murmurs of consternation rose to the rafters instead, as Renlow stood in bewilderment with his insensible bride clasped to his chest.

“Take her up to her bedchamber, my good sir!” Gerold Ankatel instructed. “Burchard shall show you the way.”

A large, dependable looking servant appeared at Renlow’s side. “This way, sir,” he intoned gravely.

Aimee started up from their bench before remembering she was still tied to her new spouse. “I must accompany her,” she said agitatedly.

“Nonsense, Aimee!” her father said belligerently. “She will be very well, and Hilda may attend her directly.”

“Not Hilda, Father,” Aimee frowned. “She fusses so!”

Konrad reached for the knife in his belt and sliced through the binding. Aimee clearly took this as all the permission she needed, for she span around and hastened after Renlow at once.

“Dear me!” Freda murmured. “Most inauspicious for both brides to leave the feast!” Konrad bent a stern look on her, and she looked contrite. “I only meant that – well – it does not seem a very happy omen.”

“That’s enough, Freda,” he intoned, and she lapsed at once into silence, her cheeks turning pink.

“Ursula likely did not take enough nourishment at supper last night,” Gerold said irritably. “Maidens can be fretful about their wedding day, or so they tell me,” he added, still looking put out.

Konrad wondered if that was why the elder sister had been allowed to switch places with the younger but did not voice his suspicion.

“The prospect of marrying a complete stranger has likely put her in a flutter,” a hook-nosed dame from further down the table piped up. She glanced significantly at the young man sat beside her.

“Perhaps Miss Ursula would benefit from the company of an old friend right now,” the young man who was her companion suggested, picking up on her hint with an ingratiating smile.

Gerold Ankatel cast down his napkin in disgust. “You think your company would be more palatable than that of her own sister, do you, Willard?”

The young man flushed, and the older woman beside him bristled. “My son was only trying ?–?”

“To ingratiate himself!” Ankatel snapped. “That ship has sailed, Elspeth. She refused your son, and he would do well to remember that fact!”

It was at this point that Konrad wondered if the musicians ceasing their playing had been such a good thing after all. He turned to consider his sister whose lips had barely uttered a word in the past hour.

“Well, Magnatrude, and how are you finding your meal?” he asked, making an effort.

“The meat is well seasoned,” she replied coolly. “But I find this room a good deal too warm.”

“I told you not to wear that heavy velvet,” he reminded her.

“It is the only formal gown I possess that is not moth-eaten,” she retorted, sounding stung.

That was likely true, he conceded. There had been precious little call or coins for fine dresses in Magnatrude’s life this past ten years. “You will have to get some new gowns made up during our two month stay in the southern capital.”

“Two months!” she repeated at once with displeasure. “I surely did not hear you correctly, Konrad!”

“I do not think your sense of hearing is lacking, whatever else may be.”

His sister bit back the words that sprang to her lips and sat a moment in seething silence. “You will not incense me into some vulgar display of temper, Konrad,” she said at last in words that quivered slightly, despite her even tones. “However much it might suit our present company for me to do so!”

“I can well believe you,” he replied. “Matching the mood of the occasion does not seem to have been high on your list of priorities this day.”

“Oh look!” Freda interrupted them quickly. She lifted her voice. “Sir Renlow returns. What news of your bride, good sir?”

Renlow paused a moment before seating himself. “She is feeling a little delicate and will rest now until our departure.” He flashed an apologetic look at his father-in-law who was breathing heavily through his nostrils.

“And what of Baroness Kentigern?” the old man asked sharply. Konrad felt his sister stiffen beside him. It was the first time someone other than he had used Aimee’s new title.

Renlow looked across at Konrad. “She begs leave to attend her sister –” he began.

“Well, she does not have it!” Gerold responded promptly, clearly forgetting that her husband now held sway over his daughter’s actions. “Aimee can come back down here directly! At once!” He turned to the nearest servant. “Fetch her down, I say! She has a husband to attend now and new responsibilities!”

Well, perhaps he had not forgotten altogether, Konrad acknowledged. He glanced across at Renlow who was looking rather awkward.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” Gerold Ankatel muttered, a heavy frown darkening his brow.

In spite of himself, Konrad found himself casting about for something to say to lighten the mood. “Perhaps some more music?” he suggested and felt rather than saw the startled looks his sister and cousin cast his way.

Ankatel snapped his fingers. “Music!” he demanded, casting a look behind his chair. “What the devil am I paying you fellows for?” The musicians struck up hastily, and the room was once more plunged into a mood of forced gaiety. As she approached from his blind side, Konrad did not realize Aimee had reappeared until she was clambering once more onto the bench beside him. She sent him a contrite look as she tidied her skirts about her.

“I am sorry, husband,” she murmured, leaning toward him so he could hear her above the music. “I did not think. ’Tis only, I did not like to leave my sister to Hilda, but I did not mean to neglect you so.”

He considered this startling statement a moment in silence. “Who is Hilda?” he heard himself ask rather grudgingly.

“Hilda? Why, she is a servant who has attended us for many years.”

“Why, then, do you not trust your sister to her tender mercies?”

Aimee was silent a moment before shuffling even closer to him. “Well, you see,” she said, angling her face to his ear so he could hear her confidentially lowered voice. “Hilda will try to coddle Ursula so. She does not try to bolster her up or encourage her as she ought. And now I am so vexed, for I find that Father has said that Ursula can take Hilda with her into her new household, and I am to have Golda.”

“You do not care for this Golda?”

“Oh no, ’tis not that at all!” she hurried to assure him. “Golda is very capable and able. It is only that Ursa will not put Hilda in her place.” Her expression darkened. “I fear that it is Hilda will be running my sister’s household before she even realizes it!”

He considered Aimee’s expression a moment in silence. Even when put out, she was animated and lively. The two sisters could not be more dissimilar, he thought.

“Ursula is not really ill,” Aimee continued sounding aggrieved. “She is only overwhelmed by everything, but by this evening, Hilda will have her convinced she must be put to bed with a posset and no visitors.”

Konrad snorted. “On her wedding night? Her husband might have something to say about that.”

Aimee turned her head to look across the table at Renlow. “Do you think so?” she asked doubtfully. “Only, Sir Renlow seems to me …”

“Yes?” he asked, rather more sharply than the occasion warranted.

“A rather considerate sort of man,” she said flatly.

Konrad opened his mouth to argue that even a considerate man would hardly stand for such a thing when it struck him that if anyone would abide by such nonsense it would be Renlow. “Who is that?” he asked instead, nodding toward the commanding looking woman Gerold Ankatel had been exchanging words with moments earlier.

Aimee’s eyes widened. “The Widow Hemmings?” she whispered with sudden misgiving. “Why? What has she said?”

“She wanted to send her son up to sit with your sister,” he explained dryly.

Two pink spots appeared in Aimee’s cheeks. “The impertinence!” she spluttered.

“Did some previous attachment exist between them?” he guessed shrewdly.

“Certainly not!” Aimee responded hotly. “’Tis only that her late husband was a friend and acquaintance of our father’s. When he came of age, Willard felt compelled to offer for one of us. The Hemmings owned the premises next door when Father had property on the wharf. We have known each other’s family for years.” She looked as though she would say more but pressed her lips together instead.

It occurred to him that before her father had accumulated his wealth, a fellow merchant’s son would have been viewed as a decent match for one of his daughters. He cast a look of consideration at Willard Hemming and found his gaze resting on Aimee. As if growing aware of eyes upon him, Willard’s gaze shifted to Kentigern before the young man visibly blanched, turning hurriedly toward his mother.

“He offered for Ursula or for you?” Konrad heard himself enquire in a growl.

“I’m not sure he really had a preference,” Aimee admitted frankly. “As it was our father’s fortune that was his object after all.”

As this drew a rather unwelcome parallel between himself and Willard Hemming, Konrad shifted in his seat. He wanted to ask how it was that Aimee had ended up as his bride, but this was probably not the time or place for such a question. He fancied he knew the answer in any case. Her chicken-hearted sister would likely have expired on the spot rather than join her lot in life to his.

Instead, he turned to contemplate the platters the servers were now bringing out of small pastry tarts both sweet and savory and many large cheeses. This must surely be the final course, and the banquet would soon be drawing to its close. Then he could hustle his kinswomen, his new bride included, back to their rooms at The Jennet Treewhere he could take off this damned tunic, with its uncomfortable embellishments which stuck in him every way he turned, and take his ease.

It did not dawn on him until the remains of the meal were being cleared away that the celebrations were far from over and done with. His father-in-law cleared his throat and rose from his seat with an air of ceremonial gravity. He and Renlow in turn were solemnly presented, first one and then the other, with large keys. Konrad stared down at his palm and the key a moment and then back at Ankatel.

“Well, well,” the old man said, rocking back on his heels and tucking his hands into his belt. “I was thinking you young people will need somewhere to set up your households here in Caer Lyoness, so I’ve bought you both a fine house in the best part of town.” He beamed at them and nodded his head, looking vastly pleased with himself.

Set up home here? Konrad thought blankly. He looked from Ankatel to the large key and then, slowly, to his bride. Her lips were curved into a smile, and she was gazing back at him, happy and expectant. Konrad cleared his throat. “I had not –” he started, then stopped himself from uttering anything undiplomatic. “I did not expect such a gift,” he said gruffly. “When you have already done so much for me already, restoring my former home and lands to my possession.”

Ankatel waved this aside. “A man who travels the country so much as you do will need more than one base,” he pointed out jovially. “Thanks to my daughters, I have been hearing all about the life of a knight who follows the tournaments. And I must say, I do not think it becomes your dignity to be dragging a wife from pillar to post.”

Konrad shot a startled look at Aimee. She had attended the tournaments? Her face was poppy red now.

“Father!” she remonstrated in a strangled voice.

Since he had not had the smallest intention of taking any wife of his to the tournaments, Konrad hardly knew what reply to make to this. Fortunately, Renlow took over at this point, stammering out his profuse thanks.

Konrad turned to his bride. “You knew about the house already?” he asked.

“I did,” she answered, her gaze clear and open. “Though I have not yet seen it. Father let me pick out the furnishings for it.”

“Furnishings?” He didn’t know why he was startled by this point.

She nodded and her smile wavered. “I hope you don’t think I took too much upon myself –”

“Of course not,” he cut her off abruptly. “That is entirely your province. I know nothing whatsoever of setting up households.”